Friendship
by Sathaeri
Summary: Even the most vicious have someone to call a friend. Collection of oneshots regarding favorable relationships between various characters in DA2. Companion series to Rivalry. Ch1: Merrill & Fenris; Ch2: Hawke & Carver
1. Merrill & Fenris: Hair

**_A/N: _**_Now that I read over this again, Fenris seems terribly OC. But if you want fluffy, not-so-broody-all-the-time Fenris, then read on, I suppose.  
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_This series is updated rather sporadically, and is the companion series of **Rivalry**. I have more ideas for this one than that one, so..._

_Anyway, enjoy!_

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><p><strong>~ Merrill &amp; Fenris: Hair ~<strong>

There was a rock in the way. Merrill tripped. In panic, she flailed an arm out wildly, hitting Fenris in the head. He grunted. His hair was soft.

"Ow!" Merrill fell on the hard stone ground. She stood up shakily, stumbling a bit. "Oh. Did I hit you, Fenris?"

"Yes," the broody warrior muttered, rubbing the side of his head.

"Ohh, my. I'm so sorry!"

He looked at her, expressionless. "It's fine. Just be more careful."

He turned back around and they continued walking. Merrill pursed her lips. Her eyes darted from Fenris to Bethany, to Hawke and back to Fenris. Hawke and Bethany had dark hair. So did Merrill. But Fenris's hair was... different. White. _Like old people hair._

She cleared her throat timidly. "Umm... Fenris?"

Fenris gave her his customary sideways glance. "What?"

"How old are you?"

He stopped and turned to face the young elf. Merrill looked up at him expectantly, her large eyes glittering. He chuckled despite himself. "I would rather not answer that."

"Ohh, really?" She frowned. "But if I don't know how old you are, I can't tell what happened to your hair."

"...My hair?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes. It's white."

"I know that," Fenris said, unconsciously reaching up a hand to feel his hair.

"It's like the hair color of wise, old people. Like my keeper's."

He coughed. "Erm. I'm not_ that_ old."

Merrill cocked her head. "So why is your hair like that?"

"I... don't know."

"But – wait, really? You actually don't know?"

Fenris sighed. "Merrill, with the way you ask questions, it's no wonder no one talks to you."

Immediately he regretted saying that. She winced, as if a wound had just been reopened. The last he saw of her expression before she turned away was akin to the pout of a kicked puppy.

He glanced over her towards Hawke and Bethany, who were still walking. Merrill was walking a fair distance from them, her shoulders drooping. A knot twisted itself into his stomach – or maybe it was his heart? Fenris wasn't used to sympathy for the mage, or any mages in general. And Merrill was a blood mage, too. That made it worse, but more than anything, it made him angry.

Still, the way she dragged her feet and stared down at the ground seemed to... bother him. She was a mage, yes, and a blood mage at that. But she was also an outcast, a lonely soul, an innocent. The thought stabbed at his heart and that irritated him even more, but he relented. It wasn't worth making her an enemy.

The Hawkes had stopped and were inspecting a chest of goods. Fenris sighed heavily. If he didn't get this over with, he'd have this on his chest for a very long time. "Merrill," he called.

She didn't turn around.

"Merrill," he repeated. "Just... come here. I won't... I'm not going to hurt you."

Her eyes darted to him as she looked back. He crossed his arms, giving an upward nod to coax her over, so she stepped towards him, stopping a few feet away. "Fenris," she greeted rather nervously.

He ran a hand through a loose bunch of hair. "Look," he said, "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. You just... ask a lot of questions."

She brightened. "Really?"

"Really," he answered, sighing. "It's sometimes a bit overwhelming."

"Oh. I'm sorry." She paused. "Should I ask less questions?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I should."

"See? You knew the answer. Why did you ask?"

Merrill's eyes widened. "Oh! Well, that's... that's very smart!"

He chuckled. "Yes, it is."

A faint whistle caught their attention. Hawke was signaling them to move on. Fenris started forward at a brisk pace, thankful that was over. He wasn't accustomed to apologizing, unlike the elf he'd been speaking to.

They traveled through more back alleys and dirty roads. Weaving through the city, they finally emerged in the light. There was a rock in the way. Fenris stepped around it.

Merrill tripped.

Her flailing arm slammed into Fenris's back. She landed on the hard stone ground, dazed. As the world slowly came back into focus, she noticed a tattooed hand held out in front of her.

She peered up. "Fenris?"

He nodded and offered his hand again. Merrill took it and got up. "Whew! Thanks for that," she panted cheerfully. "And, um... did I hit you?"

"Yes," he replied, wondering if the lesson she'd just learned on not asking so many questions had sunk in yet.

"Oh, dear Creators. I'm so sorry!"

Fenris chuckled. "It's fine..."

"Just be more careful," Merrill finished for him. "Got it."

She grinned at him, and for the first time, Fenris smiled a real smile back at her.


	2. Hawke & Carver: Guardian

**~ Hawke & Carver: Guardian ~**

The night was black and the moon was high, enough to illuminate the two figures making their way steadily to a dingy hovel in the middle of Lowtown. No one really seemed to care, but there had always been eyes in the dark.

**~o~O~o~**

The walls rattled as Carver slammed the door behind him. "Sister. We need to talk."

"It can't wait until morning?" she asked, not turning to face him. "It's been a long night."

"No."

She sighed and sat on the bench at the side of the room, inviting him to sit next to her. "All right. What do you need?"

"I... stop doing that."

"What?"

"Asking if I need anything. I can take care of myself," he snapped.

"Okay, okay – fine. Now, what is it?"

"It's..." Carver frowned. He didn't like getting into his older sister's more... personal life, but perhaps it was time he started to play the proper brother role. "That elf we helped tonight..."

"Fenris."

"Yes, him." Carver shook his head. "You don't... did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" His sister laughed. "You'll have to be more specific, little brother."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Little brother? But that's what you are."

"I'm not so little anymore," he retorted.

"Well, _I_ wish you'd stop picking on tiny things like that. Really."

"At any rate..." Carver cleared his throat. "You shouldn't, uh... do it."

Hawke stared. "What?"

"I mean, you and him. I heard what you said, you know."

"Oh?" She smirked. "What did I say, exactly?"

"Oooh, such a waste," Carver said, adopting a terribly girly, high-pitched voice, "for a perfectly handsome elf like _yooooouuuu_."

"Okay," said Hawke. "I do not talk like that."

"But it's what you said," he pointed out.

"All right, so I called him handsome." She shrugged. "So what? People call you handsome. I call you handsome."

Carver crossed his arms. "It's different. I know you were sincere. If living with you for this long taught me anything, it's knowing when you're serious and when you're joking around."

"And your point is?"

"He's dangerous. More than that, even. Think about it: he's an escaped Tevinter slave with lyrium tattooed into his skin that gives him the magical ability to punch through people. Don't you think that's sort of creepy?"

"Still waiting for that point." Hawke yawned exaggeratedly. "Must be a busy day in the mind of Carver, huh?"

"What the point _is_," he explained, shooting his sister a glare, "is that he's... you aren't... agh." He stood, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know how to say it."

"So... it _can_ wait until tomorrow?" she joked.

"No!" Carver turned to her angrily, his voice rising in volume. "I don't care if you don't want to hear it. I just don't want you to get hurt! There! Do you get it? Has that finally pierced through that thick skull of yours? I hope so!"

Hawke sat silently, regarding him with a peculiar stare. Carver cursed inwardly. What was he trying to prove now? That he was as good a protector as she? _It's not like that matters_, he thought to himself. He began to turn away.

"Wait," she said.

Carver glanced behind him. "What?" he spat impatiently.

Hawke smiled, a very faint smile, the one that told him she approved. "Thank you."

He scoffed. "For what?"

"Well," she began, standing, "for starters, this means you actually care about what I get myself into. And I know you've got my back." She looked away for a moment. "I know we haven't always gotten along, but... it's nice to know that even though we aren't in Ferelden anymore, you're still here for me."

"W-well, I..." Carver felt heat rush into his face. Damn it. He was no good at sappy stuff. "Yeah," he said, for lack of anything better.

"And," she added, "this also means... you really do love me!"

_Shit_, Carver thought.

"Say it," she coaxed teasingly. "Say you love me."

He shook his head, giving a small chuckle. "No."

"Say it! You love me!"

"No!" Carver began to run.

Hawke laughed, giving chase. "You love me! Mother, Carver loves me! Say it, Carver!"

Leandra stared after her grown children as they ran around the hovel, giving herself a well-deserved facepalm.

**~o~O~o~**

When it was black outside and the moon was still high, Carver looked down at his sister's sleeping face, illuminated by the pale light, and spoke softly.

"Love you, Sister."

No one really seemed to care, but Leandra might have smiled.


End file.
